


Fun and Interesting

by ColourlessZero



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Asexual Relationship, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Zombie Apocalypse, Zombie Apocalypse/BNHA AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-25
Updated: 2016-11-13
Packaged: 2018-08-24 15:21:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8377177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ColourlessZero/pseuds/ColourlessZero
Summary: Kenma always wondered how he’d fare in a zombie apocalypse. How interesting it would be to see the last few members of humanity adapt to survive. He always thought about how fun it would be if superpowers were real, if life was like the games he adored. 
He takes it all back. It isn’t interesting, it isn’t fun. He’d rather waste hours at a social gathering wishing he could leave.





	1. Chapter 1

To his left is a street. Usually there are streets everywhere he went in the city but today he’s by the sea where everything is a little more expensive. This expensive, seaside street is lined with huge designer homes and luxury apartments. Probably the sort with real stone and proper hardwood flooring so polished he can see his face in it. He wouldn’t know though. Since he’s never been in one. Places like this always make him feel small and intimidated. This time is no different. Further down the street there are chic restaurants and cafes with long names on the menu he can’t pronounce and prices he can’t afford. On a regular weekend he imagines fancy people will come out with their european cars, yappy dogs and fashionable sunglasses to relax from their relaxing. Just thinking about how many people there would be used to make Kenma feel sick. Now, he has mixed feelings about this deserted street.

To his right is the ocean, sprawling out as far as the eye can see. Grey water fusing with grey sky in an indistinct, hazy horizon. The sea is still today, with rain falling in an almost calming drizzle. Everything is still, unchanging, monochrome. If he wants to he can drop into the sea and get lost in it. He won’t have to think about anything.

He doesn’t have that luxury though.

A wave of nervous anticipation churns in his stomach, as tumultuous as the ocean would be if it had been a windy day.  _ Let’s find out if this will work. _

Shining like a beacon through the rain, there’s only one house on the street lit up from the inside. Warm, yellow light glowing softly on a dreary morning. For a start it has power and if there are people inside it then it must have supplies. A true treasure trove.

Kenma’s eyes gleam at a different kind of treasure. The treasure of convenience. Parked outside the house is a car. Calling it a car is very generous. It isn’t much more than a glorified tin can on wheels, but it’s exactly what he’s looking for. An old, rickety car just as out of place as he is, here in a place with perfectly manicured gardens. He sidles up to it, keeping his steps light and his body low. The house has a wall built around it, so the chances of being seen are slim. He’d rather be safe than sorry though. 

He’s never done this before. Ever. He’s only ever watched. Reaching into his backpack he takes out a doorstopper and a thin metal rod. Very carefully he jams the doorstopper into the top corner of the car door and bashes it a few times to make enough of a gap. Twisting the rod in his hands he takes a deep breath.

_ Just do it the way Oikawa always showed you. _

In his head he hears Oikawa’s sing-song voice,  _ “You have to do it delicately, Kenma-chan. Treat it as you would a lovely lady.”  _ Iwaizumi will always snap back in a gruff voice,  _ “Can’t you teach him like a normal person?” _

Narrowing his eyes in concentration he slips the thin metal rod through the gap he made. He slowly twists it and angles it just right. He licks his lips. Just a little lower. He gives it a sharp jab. Click!  

_ There!  _ He swings the door open and slips inside, closing it as quietly as he can behind him.

Removing the plastic covering from beneath the steering wheel he fiddles with a few wires, working them like threads between his fingers and the car comes to life with a low growl. If this goes well it'll save him a lot of walking. 

Careful not to make too much noise, he has the car moving at a slow roll. The car is running on a full tank. He wonders where the owners got the fuel from. They must be strong to have this much. 

Now the second half of the plan: not getting caught. Concentrating, he spreads out his presence. He has no idea if it’s working. With a person his Quirk feels like a ghostly extension of his body. With a car though, he’s not sure if he’s supposed to feel anything at all. Maybe it’s different because cars don’t feel. Or do they?

Gold eyes flicking towards the rear view mirror he sucks at his lip in frustration. A few shadowy figures are scrambling out of the house, silhouettes sharp against the hazy light. He slows to a stop and hastily wriggles into the backseat. Tucking himself low on the floor he curls up around his backpack. 

_ Inhale, relax, blend in. I’m nothing but a sack of potatoes in a car. I’m nothing. I don’t exist.  _ Closing his eyes so tightly they begin to ache he imagines himself melting into the fabric of the seats. An almost imperceptible tingle ripples across his skin like he's slowly submerging himself in a lukewarm bath. He releases a breath. Cat-like eyes slide open, perfectly calm. 

_ I’m Kozume Kenma. _

The car shakes when the door on the driver's side is violently wrenched open. “What the fuck. There’s no one in here?”

He stares right up at the three men surrounding the car. Overall they’re in fairly good shape. Tall, burly men probably in their late thirties. It looks like they want for nothing and they’re not going hungry. Not only that, they’re all armed with hammers, baseball bats and all sorts of things dangling from their belts.

It’s unlikely he’ll survive a direct confrontation with them.

While his body is as still as a rock his heart thrashes about like a caged bird. The men circle around the car inspecting every inch of it. One of them disappears from sight. Kenma assumes he’s checking under the car. His eyes are glued to the man with the baseball bat. The only thing separating them is the one door he’s conveniently hiding behind. Thick fingers curl around the door handle. The door clicks and begins to creak open. Kenma has stopped breathing. 

Then ear-rattling sirens scream through the air, cutting through all that still, grey rain. If sound has a colour it’ll probably be burning slashes of red and black radiating from the source.

Kenma watches the man’s blood drain from his face. His skin quickly turns a sickly green. This man has seen some things. That’s the price of survival. You see things and wish you didn’t.

For a moment nobody dares to move or even breathe. Kenma can see the gears slowly turning in their heads. The three men are all wondering the same thing. Is it a siren or is it one of  _ them _ ?

Siren or not, they’ll be here before too long.

The men have only got two options: get in the car and hightail out of there or hole themselves up in the house. Kenma isn’t about to wait for them to decide. Without a second thought he wrenches the door open and leaps out of the car. 

“Who the hell are you?” One of them lunges at him but Kenma slips through his fingers by a hair’s breadth. “Oi!”

He sprints towards the horrible, shrill noise, stuffing his fingers in his ears. 

He knew that siren would come in handy. 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kenma dreams about the beginning when there were fun superpowers but a distinct lack of zombies.

The siren Kenma’s so fond of was a beautiful thing. Sleek and bright red, he had stolen it weeks ago with Oikawa and Iwaizumi’s help when they passed by an elementary school. Like most places around it was completely trashed. Nothing was left untouched–tables flipped, windows broken, cupboards raided. Still, in the hopes that at least  _ something _ was left behind by survivors they looked under everything as well. 

Kenma would be lying if he said didn’t picture an undead child just lingering around every corner they passed. Fortunately, or unfortunately, because he was thinking about it so much he was prepared when they did run into an old, zombified man in the basement. In the dim light there was a shapeless heap on the ground. The screech from opening the door scared the crap out of all of them, but it didn’t wake the man. Not until they were within arm’s reach did the man turned zombie, with greyish skin sagging off him, did he unfold in an unnatural manner. He lunged at Oikawa, jaws wrenched so wide open it looked like he was going to tear his mouth in two. Kenma slammed the door in its face and jammed it shut with a crowbar he found earlier. When Iwaizumi caught up with them all it took was one look and he knew what had happened.

If people were rifling through cupboards and under everything they could find, maybe there was something left on higher places. Kenma cast his eyes upwards and that’s when he saw his siren. There were a few around the school and in excellent condition. He could only take one though. As he pried it off the wall sitting atop of Oikawa’s shoulders while the brunet constantly grumbled beneath him he wasn’t sure why he suddenly wanted to have a siren. 

“What are you going to use it for anyway? If it accidentally goes off we’re screwed,” Oikawa whined, “you’re heavy for someone who doesn’t eat much. Kenma-chan, hurry up!” 

Kenma didn’t know the answer to that. All he knew was he wanted it. So all he said was a quiet, “Red is my favourite colour.” 

Iwaizumi chuckled lightly, keeping one eye on them and another eye out for anything suspicious. “If it makes him happy let him have it, Oikawa.”

For days afterward the siren sat in Kenma’s backpack as little more than extra weight. One day inspiration struck him. He tinkered with it whenever they found a house with power still running. Soldering in dim lighting was literally a pain. He couldn’t count the number of burns he had on his fingers. Wires tangled together with a healthy dose of duct tape as he added a few features here and there. He fitted the siren with a timer to set it off once a button was pressed. Thought it might be useful in case they wanted to draw zombies away from them.

When he showed it to Oikawa and Iwaizumi they were so happy. “It would definitely be useful,” they said, “how had we not thought of it before?”

The siren was a masterpiece and he loved it like a child. He never got it back.

The three men chose to hide in their home while he disappeared into the rain to retrieve his dear siren. He was so proud of it. 

There he was minding his own business when the ground beneath him started cracking like eggshells. There was a loud rumbling deep beneath the earth. Under his feet it felt like something in the ground was slipping away, leaving him to stand on a thin and unstable layer. Trees swayed and houses crumbled. Kenma sprinted forward in a panic. His breath was hot in his throat.  The ground behind him fell away into nothingness. He saw it for a second. Where the ground was now was replaced by a terrible, gaping hole that stared back at him with dense blackness.  _ A grave _ , he thought,  _ my grave _ . He didn’t want to think about that. He had to keep going. It was getting harder to breathe. His legs were screaming with effort. The sea rushed in the moment land gave way. Water lapped at his heels. The ground wouldn’t stop falling. Maybe he should stop. Give up and let the ground swallow him up. Save himself the trouble and take the easy way out.

And then his feet hit solid ground with a dull thud. The pavement beneath him no longer shivered at the slightest touch. The roaring stopped and the air was as still as before with a steady veil of rain pattering down lightly over a grey landscape as though nothing had changed.

He isn’t sure how long he’s been standing there mouth agape, staring over the edge of a newly created cliff. It’s probably been about half an hour. Raising his hand the rain clings to it. It’s not shaking anymore. He stares out into this new landscape for one last time before moving on. The ocean seems to have grown bigger. The waves crept in to fill up a section of land cut away with a perfect, clean arc. It looks like someone took a massive cookie cutter and severed away that land. This is the claw mark of someone’s Quirk. Something natural wouldn’t make perfectly smooth cliff faces like that.

Kenma should thank them for making a tiny dent in the zombie population, but he nearly got killed in the process. So he can’t really say he’s particularly grateful. Also, the siren he worked so hard on is now lost somewhere in the ocean. It isn’t easy getting supplies to rig up something like that.

_ There’s no helping it _ . He has to keep going if he wants to reach the city. He’s been repeating it so much in his head it sounds less like a mantra and more like the ticking of a clock.  _ Keep going. Keep going. Keep going. _

Relying more on instincts than conscious thought he trudges uphill. Rain mixing with sweat he forces his tired legs to work with nothing but sheer willpower. There can be a tsunami to follow up the quake. The thing with powerful Quirks like that is it’s impossible to know what consequences there are unless you know the ins and outs of that Quirk very well. 

Thanks to the siren he didn’t run into any zombies. Heading into a steep side street he comes across a little winding path snaking between clusters of small homes with wilting pot plants. At the end the scenery opens up to a grassy hill. At the top he finds an old-fashioned house. It’s much larger than any of the newer buildings and fitted with sliding doors. A traditional Japanese home. It had no neighbours and only a few trees around it with overgrown weeds spilling out of the garden. He has a three sixty degree view of everything from up here. Perfect for scouting.

Padding over to the entrance as silently as possible he slides open the door. Slinking from room to room the place looks just like a regular home. It’s clean and tidy. Nobody’s home either.

_ Nobody’s home. _ The thought drags out all the stress and exhaustion from somewhere he had bottled up his emotions. They come pouring out into every cell in his body. All he wants to do is to just lay down and do nothing. Maybe sleep as much as he likes. He’s so tired he doesn’t even think about playing one of his games.

As soon as he finds a power outlet he plugs in all of his electronics. Thankfully, it works. Seems like this area is still good for electricity. It’ll be nice if he can get a solar charger. Then he wouldn’t need to rely on finding a house with power.

With that taken care of he’s completely done. He’s done with constantly running away, done with this horrible turn of events. Slumping down against the wall he rips off his swimming goggles for the first time in weeks. He doesn’t care anymore. He wants that pressure off his face and to sleep properly.

For the second time in his life his greatest wish is granted. Sleep steals away every sensation. At first it’s just dark from closing his eyes along with his arm thrown over his face to block out the light. Then it’s touch. Nothingness slips over him like a blanket and steals away his weight. He becomes one with nothingness.

Then comes the dreams.

Before all this he never really paid attention to his dreams. They’re generally about mundane daily activities that replay in Kenma’s mind. Now, he can’t say anything about his days are mundane as it’s replayed in his head.

He dreams about the beginning. 

Dinner was being prepared when he got home from volleyball practice. After a quick shower Kenma was perched on a chair watching his mother cook. She was like him, preferring to watch and listen over talking. With the news on tv running in the background she was frying up slices of tofu and the smell was absolutely mouthwatering. Over the crackling sound of sizzling oil he thought he heard it incorrectly. Something about a child with a shining forehead. An ad for a skincare commercial? When he glanced at the screen it was the usual news reporter. In China a baby was born with a shining forehead. The baby’s forehead shone like polished gold and lit up the room it was in all on its own. “Nobody, not even scientists, could explain the reason behind this strange phenomenon,” said the news reporter.

Shortly after that more children were being born with strange abilities. Some people reported developing odd powers of their own as well. These were called Quirks. 

When Kenma found his Quirk he felt incredibly blessed and lucky. His power suited him perfectly and for once he could say he was truly comfortable with himself. It opened up a world of possibility, one that was interesting. He thought about all the things he might be capable of. The excitement over it was the same as discovering a mysterious, new item in a game.

At first it was fine. Like Kenma, a lot of people embraced their newfound abilities and started experimenting with what they could do. Then one morning Kenma woke up and everything turned to shit.

The dead didn’t stay dead.

In hospitals nurses would watch patients flatline with their own eyes and the doctors would declare them dead. No more than a few hours later the patient would be missing from their bed. When found the patients  _ screamed _ . It wasn’t fearful screaming, it was a call to feed. This was what Kenma saw from shaky footage uploaded on the web. The person filming was lucky to make it out of there alive.

It didn’t stop at just hospitals. People stopped going outside out of fear and refused to let relatives through the door after seeing bite marks on their skin. The streets were overrun with walking corpses. 

Some people claimed the end was coming while others guessed at something more realistic: a Quirk gone out of control. It wasn’t unheard of. Some people discovered they had powerful Quirks they had no idea how to handle. These special few were rounded up to be given some kind of special training. The official details released to the public were all very vague. It sounded suspicious. Since all this was so new Kenma didn’t understand how they could have anyone with the credentials to provide this special training. Someone else must have thought the same and some of these people the authorities went to retrieve were never found. Sometimes Kenma wondered if the person behind the zombies was within that group of people. It’d be great if they could stop.

Air rushes out of Kenma’s lungs. His head cracks against the wall. Pain wakes him up immediately. Someone,  _ something _ was on top of him, pushing him down. Kenma thrashes.  _ Not today! I am not dying today!  _ He pushes at the person’s face. His hands land on a cold mask. The kind of gas mask that makes people look like flies.

A rough hand is forced over his mouth. In a flash cold steel is pressed to his jugular. The person presses in close. Kenma is almost nose to nose with the mast. Green-tinted lenses reflect nothing but his own terrified eyes.

A quiet, but clear voice says, “Don’t move.” The knife presses into Kenma’s skin. Not enough to cut, but enough to make his breath hitch. “And don’t scream.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hmmm, who is this mystery mask, I wonder >.> Poor Kenma can't catch a break.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Friend or foe?

Kenma’s shuddering breath rattles around in his throat. Saying this is the worst situation he can find himself in is an understatement. Aside from being eaten by zombies, of course.

“Please.” His voice is barely more than a whisper, afraid that the slightest movement in his throat would have the knife severing an artery. “Please,” he begs, trembling hands raised in surrender.

The man doesn't move a hair. Something about the man makes Kenma think of Iwaizumi. There's strength apparent in the body straddling him and experience in the way the man handles his knife, but it's neither of those things that scream Iwaizumi.

A loud crash shatters the fragile quiet as someone barrels into the living room. No the tall, looming man is cursing at the table he had just run into.

 _No, not another one_ , Kenma panics. For simplicity’s sake Kenma calls this new man Muscles and the man straddling him Knife. He has never been creative with names, but it'll do.

Muscles rips off his mask–the same kind as the knife man. Spiky, black and silver hair bursts forth and alert golden eyes blink owlishly at them. “A survivor?” He strides over to them and crouches down to lay a hand on Knife’s shoulder. “What are you doing, Akaashi? Get off him.”

That familiar touch and the softness in his voice makes everything clear in Kenma’s mind. Recognition permeates his intuition.

 ~~Knife~~  Akaashi can and will use his blade if he has to. It's the driving force behind it that reminds him of Iwaizumi. He will kill, he will do anything to protect the people who are dear to him.

In the green lenses of Akaashi's mask Kenma catches his expression softening at fond memories of Iwaizumi and Oikawa. He rearranges his face back into an appropriately terrified one. Nostalgia is a dangerous thing.

Banishing unnecessary feelings from growing inside him he devours everything there is to know from a glance.

His priority right now is to get the hell away from these men. Stealing their supplies is a bonus. Having one of those masks will be far better than his swimming goggles too.

At the moment there's not much he can do. Using his Quirk now is out of the question. On the bright side he knows it doesn't work when he's sleeping.

 _Let's have a look at their stats._ Muscles, who is still pleading for his release, is all rippling muscle, obvious even with all that ill-fitting army gear on. Overwhelming strength with coordination that may be a bit off, judging by his loud entrance. Still pretty dangerous.

That Akaashi man is fast and precise. Just as deadly as Muscles even though he's nowhere near as strong.

 _Nowhere near as strong_ , Kenma lingers on that thought, staring intently into Akaashi’s green lenses like it will give him a missing piece of the puzzle. This isn’t adding up. If Bokuto is a nine in strength Akaashi is about a five. If that’s true why is Akaashi protecting someone stronger than himself?

Akaashi’s mask does nothing to dull the edge in his sharp tone as he addresses Muscles, “Stay behind me, Bokuto-san. He might be dangerous. And put your mask back on.” He’s as still and as cold as ice. Not once does Kenma stop feeling his sharp stare pinning him down like an insect on display, dissecting every part of him in impartial, logical analysis.

Kenma tries very hard not to make an unpleasant face. This man, with at least a dozen knives strapped to his body, pressing a knife to Kenma’s throat is calling him dangerous. Seems unfair in Kenma’s opinion.

“How do we know if he got bitten?” Akaashi asks no one in particular.

“Well if you put your knife away he’ll tell us. There’s not a scratch on him either, so I think it’s safe to say he’s not infected.”

This Bokuto guy is clearly the voice of reason. Kenma mentally nods in approval.

“Do you really think he'd tell you the truth if he got bitten? If a zombie’s guts splattered all over his face?”

Bokuto flinches at that. After some uncomfortable silence Bokuto pleads again, “We're the only ones left. We need to stick together for when the authorities arrive.”

 _The authorities? The authorities have long since stopped functioning at all. Believing that someone will be coming at all is very naive, bordering on idiocy._ It’s then that in the quiet of Kenma’s mind a pin drops with a metallic ping. He can hear it clear as a bell. How could he have overlooked how neat and tidy the house was? In times like this no house is left untouched. It’s too clean with furniture in all the right places, nothing turned over in an attempt to salvage some supplies and there’s hardly any dust on the tabletops. These two have probably been living here all this time, venturing out only to gather supplies.

Kenma can’t wrap his head around Bokuto’s words. The idea is preposterous. Do they really believe someone will come? Are they idiots? Never mind, it doesn’t matter. He’ll be gone by the next morning with some of their supplies anyway. Provided he can get out of this sticky situation that is. Breaking into someone’s house doesn’t get you any favours.

“Akaashi, you’re being rude. He hasn’t done anything.” Bokuto stands and closes his fingers around the sides of Akaashi’s mask. Gently, he slides it off his face and over his head. “Show some respect.”

Kenma first sees fair skin, a sharp jaw and lips pressed tightly together. Then eyes as green as the tinted lenses with dark brows drawn into a worried frown. _He’s just as afraid as I am_ , Kenma notes. The edges of the mask brush pass inky black hair, letting the curls fall softly around Akaashi’s face.

Kenma’s eyes flick towards the ground. If his heart beats any faster that artery in his neck is going to be in a dangerous position. He can already feel his pulse beating against the blade at his throat.

 _Schwing!_ Akaashi sheathes his knife and gets off him. Kenma releases a breath he didn’t realise he was holding. He runs his hand over his neck where the blade was. _I’m alive. I can keep going._

Staring down at Kenma with piercing green eyes Akaashi offers him his hand. Even without Akaashi’s body weight that stare pins Kenma down where he is. There’s no aggression in Akaashi’s face, but Kenma can feel killing intent behind that neutral mask.

Kenma stares at Akaashi’s outstretched hand, then at Bokuto who is fiddling with the straps on Akaashi’s mask. “Thanks, but no thanks. I’m fine down here. I’m very tired.” Kenma gives him an exhausted half-smile. The fatigue in his bones is real enough that he doesn’t need to fake it.

Akaashi bends down a little with his other hand braced on his knee. He proffers his hand insistently. “Then come. There’s a guest room upstairs that you can sleep in. It’ll be more comfortable.”

“Yea, you’re welcome to stay with us!” Bokuto wanders over and slaps Kenma on the back. “I’ll make you a sandwich.”

“No, wait–” Kenma starts, hand outstretched. He shouldn’t be having people he’s going to steal from make him a sandwich. That’s just wrong.

Before he can do anything Bokuto has already run off with a grin.

The corners of Akaashi’s mouth twitched downward in a flash before straightening out again. Kenma will say Akaashi disagrees with Bokuto. Akaashi is meticulously cautious. He’ll be difficult to deal with.

All the same, Kenma reluctantly takes Akaashi’s hand and stands on wobbly legs. Pins and needles prickle all over his skin. Akaashi holds onto his hand so tightly Kenma resigns to the fate of having numb fingers as he’s being led upstairs to the guest room.

Akaashi always keeps one step ahead of him, still holding his hand in a vice-like grip. Kenma takes a proper look at him. With the mask on he’s covered from head to toe with the same black army gear as Bokuto. All of it probably stolen, since they don’t quite fit either of them. Even his hands are wrapped up in thick, leather gloves. The mask is just one item of clothing, but without it Akaashi looks small and vulnerable. Exposed with all the information Kenma needs out on display. Just seeing the back of Akaashi’s neck bunched up with tension Kenma can tell Akaashi doesn’t think he completely has the upperhand.

“What’s your name?” Akaashi asks, never turning back to spare a glance at him.

“Kenma.”

“Just Kenma? No family name?”

“Just,” his voice breaks and trails off, “just Kenma.”

If Akaashi heard that he ignored it. He merely nods and continues, “I see. Where were you from, Kenma-san?”

“Nowhere in particular.”

The swirling wood grain on the flooring is suddenly very interesting as his eyes stubbornly avoid Akaashi’s back. Something in his heart stings like an open wound. He remembers it all too clearly no matter how much he wishes to erase it from his memory. Crushed houses and murky water. Desperate hands clinging to floating rubble before they stop. _Never. I will never use that name again._

Akaashi’s calm, even voice breaks his train of thought. “Hmm, I suppose things like where we came from are irrelevant now considering the big picture.”

The guest room is small, but Kenma’s eyes light up at the sight of a clean futon when Akaashi opens the closet and lays it out on the tatami floor. It’s big and puffy and soft–perfect. Kenma pats it in appreciation.

If Kenma didn’t know better he’d say Akaashi was smiling for a second there before smothering the expression.

Akaashi passes him a thick blanket and a few pillows, which he quickly piles onto the futon.

“Kenma-san, do you want your things brought up here? There’s a power outlet in this room as well.”

“Ah, I can do that myself.” Kenma moves to stand, but Akaashi firmly pushes him back down to sit.

“It’s no trouble,” Akaashi says curtly, “you should get some rest.” He pads out of the room and closes the sliding doors behind him.

He’s vaguely aware that to Akaashi he’s a threat to Bokuto’s safety. That’s perfectly understandable. If he were in Akaashi’s position he would probably do the same thing. Still, he hopes Akaashi is the reasonable sort and doesn’t decide to finish him off while he sleeps.

For the time being, all he wants to do is sink into the futon and enjoy this rare comfort. He sets his shoes aside (which really should be in the entryway since people are still living in this house) and wriggles under the blanket. He wraps the soft cocoon around himself and hugs one of the pillows tightly. As soon as he closes his eyes he’s out like a light.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first proper AkaKen interaction! OAO They definitely got off on the wrong foot XD


End file.
